Dead Men Don't Wear Flannel
by softydog88
Summary: A film noir mystery with the same title as a story I wrote circa 2005. Lorelai Gilmore visits Luke Danes, private eye, to enlist his help in paying the ransom for her kidnapped mother. Complications arise. Murder most foul lurks in the shadows.
1. Chapter 1

_Dead Men Don't Wear Flannel_

_by softydog88_

_Disclaimer: Many years ago, amiblue and I wrote a story with this same title. This is a new story in the same style, film noir, but I like the title, and I'm re-using it, along with some of the prose._

_Chapter One_

_A Lady Pays The Local Private Dick a Visit_

It was a muggy night...hot, humid, still, and the streets were teeming with muggers looking for blue-haired old ladies to prey on. The kind of night that made my trigger finger twitch. It had been too long since I felt the oh-so-satisfying recoil of my .38, and the sound of a punk crying out in pain as my bullet tore through his pasty flesh. I finished the last shot of my last bottle of Scotch and glared at the picture of Rachel on my desk. We had had it out over my job time and again, until she got so tired of trying to change me into some 9 to 5 schlub that she hit the road. She just couldn't understand my need to dispense justice in a tough town like Stars Hollow. This place is lousy with corruption, sin, vice and violence. The cops were all on the take, so it was impossible for the average Joe or Joanne get a fair shake in this sinkhole. That's why they needed me. A day didn't go by that I didn't kick in the teeth of some card sharp on the corner or take a crooked cop to task for looking the other way when a "businessman's" bar mysteriously caught fire. But those jobs didn't pay, and I was flat broke. I spent a minute trying to scrounge up some cash from behind my pull-it-out-of-the-wall bed, but all I could find was a poker chip from Taylor's casino, the _Taj Mahal_. Lately, things had slowed down...a lot. I was barely able to meet the rent, and the last decent case I had was a month ago when I found the local madam's best girl inside a whiskey barrel. OK, three whiskey barrels. Anyway, when a long-legged brunette with a rack like the Tower of London came in, the ol' trigger finger started twitching again. And it wasn't the only thing twitching, either. This dame pushed the door in like she was pushing away a lover and flashed a thousand-watt smile at me...strange, considering the first thing she said.

"Luke Danes, private dick? My millionaire mother is missing!"

The broad know how to pique a guys interest! I stood there giving her the once-over, and tried not to breathe too hard. She had it all—looks, legs, and, most important at this stage of our relationship, moola. Her mama must have been generous; even_ I_ knew that dress had to cost a coupla g's, minimum. It was the same style that the local working girls wore when the big Wall Street money boys came to town, and Miss Patty always kept her girls dressed in the best. Even her purse had to cost some serious scratch, though I don't think they sold it with that gun-shaped bulge in it. The dame was still sporting that smile, though it seemed like she was trying too hard to keep up appearances. Still, I felt like I had just been shot in the heart. And believe me, I know _exactly _what that feels like, but that story's best saved for another fan fiction. I pointed to the chair in front of my desk and waited until she sat down before I did the same. My dad raised me right—I know the proper etiquette to use in front of a broad like this.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" I asked, sweetly. I was going to play it real cool. Her cherry-red lips parted a bit, and I hastily swiped at my forehead to brush away the sweat that had suddenly accumulated.

"Gilmore. Lorelai Gilmore."

She didn't say the words as much as _exhale _them, and her voice had the unmistakable tone of a hard woman, soft in all the right places, sure, but a woman who had lived a hard life. She looked at me with two of the bluest eyes I had ever seen, and it was a good thing, too, because she wouldn't have been nearly the same dish if there'd been three. And then those sapphire orbs narrowed, as though the sight of me was perplexing in some way.

"Have we met before, Mr. Danes?" she asked carefully, fully expecting me to say yes.

"It's possible. Where do you live?"

"Why right here in Stars Hollow."

"Then I'm sure our paths have crossed." _Not_, I thought, _at Miss Patty's, thank goodness. _

"Yes, I'm sure you're right." She said it with a sadness that seemed genuine enough. But who was I kidding? If her money was genuine, her honesty hardly mattered.

"OK, sweetheart, tell me about your mother."

"There isn't much to tell. My father, Richard Gilmore, the insurance magnate of Hartford, called me and asked me to come see him. When I got there, he didn't even say hello, he just showed me this."

The dame handed me a note. It was one of those crazy, haphazard ones, made out of letters cut out of newspapers and magazines. Hard to find items, these days. The guys who made the note weren't messing around. The language was simple, like most of the scum I deal with.

_We have Emily Gilmore. If you want to see her alive again, it will cost 2 million dollars. You will be contacted again with instructions on when and where to leave the ransum. Do not go to the FBI or you will never see Emily again._

The '2 million dollars' was underlined, as though just the words might not sink in by themselves. And 'ransum' said volumes. Yep. They might not be messing around, but they had all the sophistication of a hamster wheel. I slipped the note into my pocket and hoped that the broad would forget about it.

"Can you get two million dollars, doll?" I asked with a smile of my own.

"My father can. He's—"

"The insurance magnate of Hartford, right," I said. What I _didn't_ say was that I knew all about Richard Gilmore, and in the circles I ran in, his nickname was _The Corruption King of the Northeast._

"Why are you here seeing me? Why not just pay the ransom?"

"We intend to, Mr. Danes. _That's_ why I'm here. We want you to make the drop."

_The drop? Not your everyday lingo among the 1%. Or maybe she just watches a lot of TV. _

"I don't know. It's not really in my wheelhouse."

"It isn't?" she said with moist, puppy dog eyes. "But you were recommended to me by a detective in Hartford, Dixon Hill. He wanted the job himself, but he's busy with a case involving some Swedish immigrants, the Borgs. He didn't want to take that job but...he couldn't resist."

"Dixon Hill?" I said, shaking my head. The dame rooted around in that ridiculous purse of hers and extracted a business card. It read:

_Dixon Hill, Private Detective_

_Late of Pinkerton's Detective Agency_

_1701-D Enterprise Street_

_Hartford, Connecticut_

_06132_

_(959) 555-GUNS_

The broad was lying. I knew Hill, of course, the man was a legend, but I wasn't going to tip my hand. In fact, I knew Hill well enough to know that he had retired a while back to his family vineyard in France, though rumor was he was making a comeback, but not before next January.

"What about my mother?" she pleaded again.

"Even if I wanted to do it, I'm pretty booked up right now." I could lie, too. The corners of her mouth dropped as she considered the next move in our negotiation.

"Mr. Hill says you make $50 a day, plus expenses."

"Dixon needs a new rate card. I haven't charged that since the iPhone 1," I lied again.

"What's your new rate?"

"Well, since it's outside the scope of my normal work, I'll need some time to consider it. Have you heard back from the kidnappers?"

Her phone rang. She held up her hand and looked at the caller ID, the pressed a button and the speakerphone kicked in.

"Daddy?" she said. "You're on speakerphone."

_Ah, Richard Gilmore, The Corruption King of the Northeast himself,_ I thought.

"Lorelai," Richard said, "the kidnappers called back."

_That's some timing. They should put together an act and take it on the road._

Richard continued. "They want us to pay the ransom at 2 a.m. I've got my bankers drawing the cash now. Have you met with Mr. Danes yet?"

"I'm with him now."

"Mr. Danes," Richard said, "I hope you can help us."

"I can," I replied, "for the right price."

"Money is no object. I just want my wife back, safe and sound."

I exhaled sharply. "I'll take the job," I said.

"Good," Richard said. "Tell Lorelai to cut you a check. I've got to go."

The phone went dead. Lorelai pulled her checkbook out of her purse and produced an elegant Montblanc fountain pen before my very eyes.

"Put that away," I said. "We'll need to be in Hartford no later than 1 to be safe. It's only 6, and I'm famished. Care for a bite to eat? I know a little diner, Cesar's place. It's no-frills, but the food is good."

"Cesar's Place? Isn't that the restaurant I walked through on my way to your office?"

She said it knowing damn well it was. This was some dame, maybe more than I had ever known, and I had known some dames in my day.

"Yeah. It used to be my dad's hardware store. I had no interest in taking over the business when he died, so I leased it to Cesar. Maybe I should have opened it as a restaurant myself. Cesar made enough dough to buy the building out from under me. But we're old friends, so I was able to lease the apartment from him at a good rate."

"And it doubles as an office," she said. "You're an astute businessman, Mr. Danes."

"Ehh," I managed to say. "And call me Luke."

"OK, Luke." She stood up and looked at the door, then looked back at my ugly mug. "Aren't we going to have dinner," she asked, "or does Cesar deliver?"

_No_, I thought, _it's too early to have dinner with this broad in my apartment. There's time enough for that. And for dessert._

I escorted her downstairs wondering whether she was a very good daughter, or just a very good actress.


	2. Chapter 2

_Dead Men Don't Wear Flannel_

_by softydog88_

_Chapter Two_

_Dinner and a Deal_

_Lorelai_

Mr. Danes stood up and tried to conceal a grimace. He was bent over for a moment, he squinted and a nearly inaudible "oof" escaped from his lips. I smiled; this private eye was either older than he looked, or he had had a rough time of it recently and needed time to sleep it off. He straightened and smiled at me; a crooked smile but sweet anyway. I hadn't noticed when I first entered, but he was dressed in an elegant suit—grey pinstripes with a white pocket square, but no rose. He might be low on cash—at least the state of his office, something between a broke bookie and a teenage boy, suggested as much—but he dressed the part well enough. His hair, what there was of it, was slicked back and despite the formality of it all, he needed a shave. OK, he didn't _need _one. I imagined myself running my hands over that stubble for days, and it was an entirely enjoyable diversion. But the shave was just to complete the picture, you know? All he needed was...ah, there it is. The fedora hat. He placed it on his head like a mother wrapping her baby. If he showed me two tickets to Paris and asked me to leave with him right then, I would have. Except...oh, yeah. Mom. Sigh.

He held out his arm like he was expecting me to be all Scarlett O'Hara and allow him to escort me, but I giggled. He looked hurt, but that's OK. Can't give him _everything _he wants at this stage. We made our way downstairs to Cesar's Place and Luke pulled out the chair for me, scraping it along the wooden floor a bit. I smiled and sat and he sat opposite me and snapped open a sterling silver cigarette case. "Gift from a grateful client," he said, ignoring the _NO SMOKING_ signs all over the joint. But the case didn't have cigarettes, it had business cards.

"I forgot to give you one of these," he said as he tucked the case into his breast pocket. I took the card and put it into my purse unread.

"Thank you," I said as Luke snapped his fingers. A bored looking kid in a Foreigner t-shirt ambled by and said "what up?"

"A glass of whatever's on tap today," Luke said. "And the lady will have...?"

"I'll have an iced tea," I said softly. Luke shrugged.

"You got it," said the waiter as he dropped two menus on the table. Luke handed one to me.

"Cesar's _Palace?_" I said, pointing to the logo on the menu.

"It was, for a bit. Somehow the word got out to the boys in Vegas, and a couple of guys who may or may not have had necks came by. They disappeared into the back for a few minutes with Cesar and then left. When Cesar finally emerged he was white as a ghost, and twenty minutes later Kirk was scraping the logo off the windows with a razor blade. Cesar's Palace became Cesar's Place, but I guess the new menus haven't arrived yet. The local printing press has been having labor trouble, you see. Word is those two goons who intimidated Cesar are due to stop by and help with the negotiations."

"Aah," I said, "you can take 'em. Just confiscate their ball-peen hammers, 18-volt batteries and electrodes and they'll be soft as a freshly baked cheesecake."

Luke raised his eyebrows so high I thought his forehead was going to split. I decided I had revealed too much and said "where's that damn tea?" as a diversion.

"Brennon!" Luke shouted, though the kid was right behind him. Cesar's became instantly quiet, all except for Brennon who was talking to a customer. For some reason he said "there've been a lot of frogs, man," and the customer said "eww" as Brennon made his way to our table.

"Where are our drinks?" Luke asked through clenched teeth. "And we need napkins, too."

"Drinks coming right up," Brennon said. "And here." He took two napkins out of his back pocket and left them on the table.

"No butt napkins!" Luke and I said, nearly in unison. We laughed.

"Lord knows what you must think of me, Mr. Danes," I said. "Laughing it up with a man I just met with my mom in peril."

"I think you're just trying to take your mind off of it," Luke said. "But you shouldn't worry. I can make the drop safely. We'll just go from there."

"The drop," I sighed. Right."

_Luke_

The dame seemed to go from all smiles and giggles to morose in an instant. Maybe I had mis-read her; maybe her mother was in more danger than I thought. I was about to say something tender when Cesar stopped by.

"Brennon is on a break," he said as he served our drinks. Then he looked at Lorelai and said "no Rory today?"

She shook her head. "She's in Salem with some friends. It's a whole witch trial hullabaloo."

I saw Mrs. Kim, who's the chairperson of the local _Mike Pence Appreciation Society _(3 members, all with the last name of Kim), shoot Lorelai an evil glance, but she does that to everyone. Cesar took our order and hurried off to the kitchen.

The dame seemed to read my mind. "Rory's my daughter," she said, almost apologetically. "We're really close, and it hurts having her away for even a short while."

"In October? Shouldn't she be in school?"

"It's...research for a history paper on the Puritans. You know, can't do better than being at the source. In person. Right there." She smiled weakly and sighed again.

"Look," I said, "if you're worried about the drop, you shouldn't. I can take care of myself. Nothing will go wrong."

She said "I trust you, Mr. Danes," but she couldn't look me in the eyes while saying it.

"But?"

"But, to tell you the truth, I'm here at my father's insistence, and slightly against my better judgment. I know about your reputation for violence. I don't want you taking any unnecessary chances."

I didn't like hearing that at all. I wasn't about to let this broad tell me how to do my job. I looked away for a minute, then I looked back at her and stared straight into those astonishing blue eyes.

"Like I said, I can take care of myself," I said, a little too loudly. "And in this racket, that's worth its weight in gold. Look around, sweetheart. See the table next to the door, and that guy flipping a coin and chewing on a cinnamon toothpick? That's Eddie the Fish, owner of Filthy Eddie's Bar and Grill, a cover for gambling and racketeering. And over there, at the counter, the broad fondling the gnome statue? That's Babs Dell. She works for Miss Patty, recruting girls fresh off the bus in search of riches and fame. Gets them by offering free dance lessons at Miss Patty's ballet studio, but that's just the front door. The back's where all the action is—between the sheets. Babs's main squeeze tickles the ivories there, too, and sings Cole Porter, when he's not filling those gnome statues with coke. Yeah, it's a real song and dance party over at Miss Patty's. And there, the guy in the suit three sizes too big with the pay phone glued to his ear? That's Kirk. Did you recognize him? I'm guessing not. He's a master of disguise. You only know him as the guy who does every meaningless job in Stars Hollow, right? Well, in reality, he's the eyes and ears of Mr. Big. Even _I_ don't know who Mr. Big is—yet. But I'm going to find out, and bring down his whole syndicate, even if it means working my way right out a job. And I'm going to do it by shaking things up, by putting the grain of sand in the oyster that causes trauma but produces a priceless pearl. I take chances! I'm not stupid, but if I expected to live forever, I'd have picked a diferent gig."

She looked down and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. I felt terrible, and laid my hand on her forearm.

"Let's just eat, OK?" she said, and I nodded. We did so in silence.

Lorelai, it turns out, ran the _Independence Inn_ on the outskirts of town. It wasn't my cuppa Joe as there wasn't any real crime there, but we had a few hours to kill before we had to leave for Hartford. I thought that Lorelai would want to go there straight away, but, she said, "I'm not spending any more time at that house than is strictly necessary. It's been my policy since I was 13." I figured there must be some tension between her and Richard; I'd keep a close eye on things when we got there. We sat at a table in the kitchen and Lorelai gave me a cup of much needed coffee and a piece of apple pie that could not have been from this world.

"Outstanding," I said between bites. "Got any more?"

"Sookie!" Lorelai shouted.

"Sookie? From _Star Wars?_"

Lorelai laughed. "No, that's _Wookie._ Sookie is our chef."

I blushed. "Yeah, that makes more sense. I am rather culturally illiterate. But if you ever want to talk baseball..."

I was cut off by the sound of crashing pots and pans and a woman in chef's duds limped up to our table.

"How's the pie?" she asked.

"Outrageously good," I muttered.

"Oh, great! My husband, Jackson, grows the apples himself."

"Jackson _Belleville?_" I asked. He was one of my chief candidates to be Mr. Big. Apples weren't the only thing he hawked—there was bootleg whiskey, too. And it was good stuff; rumor had it four Kentucky moonshiners came by to learn the tricks of the trade, only Jackson wasn't the sharing type and the bodies were found wearing cement shoes during a routine dragging of the lake. Maybe this part of town wasn't as squeaky clean as I thought.

"Belleville or Melville, take your pick," Sookie said. "I'm not really sure myself." She and Lorelai snickered. I guess that was an inside joke. I had another piece of pie and took a nap, and Lorelai woke me up at 12:15 for the ride to Hartford.

Lorelai pulled up in front of the inn behind the wheel of a Cadillac longer than my first apartment.

"Coffee, Mr. Danes?" she said, holding up a Thermos. "I made this pot myself. It's my own special blend that I personally guarantee will keep you up all night."

There was something in the way she said that that made me think there was a double meaning there, but I poured myself a cup and leaned back in the leather seat and Lorelai hit the gas. But just one sip of her "special blend" had me clawing at the door. She laughed so hard I was afraid she was going to drive off the road, but she managed to keep the Caddy upright and intact.

"I'm not on the way to being a meth addict, am I?" I asked, holding two fingers against my wrist in a vain attempt to take my pulse.

"Not at all, but maybe, with any luck, you'll just become addicted to really good coffee." I rolled my eyes and she said "I heard that," but I think it was just a lucky guess. Half an hour and three mild panic attacks later we were standing in front of the biggest front door on the biggest house I had ever seen. Clearly corruption pays even better than I thought. Lorelai rang the bell, which surprised me as I expected her to have a key. The doorbell chimed like we were standing next to Westminster Abbey. Typical. The rich aren't like you and me. Well, me. I don't know you; maybe you're rich.

I expected a maid to open the door, but it was Richard Gilmore himself. "Oh good, you're here," he said. "Come in. I've got the money all ready to go."

And so we entered.

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

_Dead Men Don't Wear Flannel_

_by softydog88_

_Chapter Three_

_Luke_

The door was just the beginning. I heard the sound of multiple latches giving way as the massive, solid mahogany barrier squeaked open and a tall, nervous looking man appeared. Introductions weren't needed; I knew Richard Gilmore the moment our eyes met. He certainly looked sad, but there was something more there, too; a look of horror-filled regret, like some scheme of his had backfired and now his wife was sitting on a box in a cold, damp warehouse with her hands tied behind her back and a cloth stuffed in her mouth. I shook my head and tried to stop imagining the worst. Richard gave no sign of recognizing me and simply said ''come in" as he turned around. I stepped inside, but Richard was already out of sight.

This house seemed more likely to be in Greenwich than Hartford; it was more Wall Street banker than insurance magnate. Then again, knowing what I did (or, rather, suspected) about Richard meant this house was probably built with plain old American corruption, be it financial, political, or most likely, both. The walls were made of the same mahogany that the door was and cigar smoke permeated every panel. We walked through the living room, past a bar cart that could have easily kept an impromptu gathering of 100 liquored up. There was a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label, too, and I had to remind myself that I was on the job. The house was clearly decorated by a pro in early modern money, and if it had been featured in _Architectural Digest_ I would not have been surprised. There were two enormous leather chairs, each with a table that had the latest magazines for the elite—_The New Yorker, European Vogue _and a few others, and a Tiffany lamp. Hell, the couch probably cost 20 grand, the drapes would have looked at home in the Oval Office and the paintings would have fit right in at the Louvre. It was both sickening and impressive at the same time. I mean you had to want this kind of life at some level, right? At least if you could afford it honestly.

We finally made it to the office of Mr. Big himself. I know, I know—just last chapter I said Jackson was a chief candidate, but that was before I walked into Hearst Castle East. There was a large portrait of a young girl on the wall—Lorelai?—and a nylon bag on an oak desk. There was a laptop on the desk, too, an actual printer on a table behind the desk, an industrial paper shredder next to the printer, and to its left was a door behind which a safe surely lurked. Boxes of _Romeo Y Julieta _Cuban cigars_, _top shelf stogies, littered the room. I could have busted the guy right then and there, but that's like arresting Al Capone for tax evasion—only to be used as a last resort.

"The money's all here, ready to go," Richard said, "in fifties, just like the kidnappers demanded."

I took a look inside and whistled. I had never seen anywhere near that big a pile of moolah before.

Richard zipped the bag closed. "Now, Mr. Danes, I suppose you have a gun?"

I nodded and tapped my breast pocket with the palm of my hand. "I never go anywhere without my .38. We've been through a lot together." I didn't mention the vest I always wore; I think it was implied.

"A sensible precaution," Richard said. "Now, I've hired a Mercedes sedan specially outfitted with bullet proof glass and body armor. The drop is to be made at the Riverfront Boathouse. The driver has been fully briefed. He'll drop you a half mile away, you'll take the money and leave it at the end of the middle pier and walk away back to the limo. A boat will be by to pick up the bag once you've left, and only then, so no bright ideas, please. Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah. Do you want me to keep my eyes open, or just high tail it back here?"

"No and no. Once the drop has been made, your services will no longer be needed. The driver will take you anywhere you want to go. Did Lorelai pay you yet?"

"I did," said Lorelai. And boy, let me tell you, the dame wasn't kidding. There was a $10,000 check burning a hole in my jacket right now, though to Mr. Big, it was nothing, not even enough to buy the top shelf of that bar cart.

"I have another question," I said. "What's the next move? Did the kidnappers agree to free Emily then and there, or will you get a phone call or something?"

"They promised to call an hour after they get the money, with..." His voice broke and he cleared his throat, and his eyes shone with tears. "With the location of my wife," he continued. "And at that point, the police will take over and pick her up."

"Got it, Richard." I held out my hand, but he turned and quickly left the office.

"Come with me," Lorelai said," and she took my hand and led me away. I wasn't expecting that; her hand was warm and softer than anything I could say to describe it. My flesh actually tingled. I thought that crap only happened in Harlequin romance novels and on Lifetime TV, but here it was, happening to me.

Lorelai led me through the kitchen. I inhaled deeply—it smelled like flowers, which was a distinct improvement over the cigar stench of the rest of the house.

"Where are we headed?" I asked.

"The maid's quarters. I want to have a private conversation with you, away from my father's ears."

I looked at my watch. "Won't the maid be asleep?"

"She's been off for a week now. What with all the drama, my dad told her to take another week. Even paid her extra."

I made a mental note. The timing of that was extremely suspicious, and the dame didn't raise an eyebrow. We exited the house proper and approached what looked like a bungalow. If this was the maid's quarters, then the maid lived in style. We entered and Lorelai shut the door.

* * *

_Lorelai_

I didn't plan on taking Luke's hand, it just _happened_. But as soon as it registered, I was glad I had done it. It was warm and strong and lightly callused. A real working man's hand. Not like Jason's, whose hands were softer than mine and colder than the inside of my freezer. That boy really needed to man up; Luke most certainly did not.

I took a deep breath and sat down on the bed. Luke looked down at me with sensitive, curious eyes.

"Ever thought of wearing a tie?" I asked out of nowhere. "A nice, red Calvin Klein, 100% silk..."

"You didn't bring me here to ask me that," Luke said, shaking his head. "What's up?"

"I'm scared," I managed to say, though truth be told, the tie would have completed the picture. "I'm worried that you'll drop off the ransom and we'll never see mother again."

"I understand," he said, "and you're right to be scared. The guys who are doing this mean business. But your father's doing the right thing. Paying the ransom is the best way to get your mother back safe. Remember, kidnappers don't want to hurt their hostage. It destroys their leverage and makes it much, much worse if they _do _get caught. Now I know I can't keep you from worrying, but I can tell you this...I'm going to do it exactly like they want. I'll drop off the money and get the hell out of there. Then we can let the cops take over."

I had to hand it to Luke—he said all the right things. Maybe there was a kidnapping checklist for the budding private dick that he had studied. It didn't hurt that his demeanor was so soothing. He exuded confidence, and I had to admit, I liked that. But there was something else I needed to tell him, and I expected that he'd put up a fight. I was right, big surprise.

"I'm going with you," I said, and he shook his head before I finished.

"No way," he said. "There's no need, and the fewer people, the better."

"You asked my dad if you should keep your eyes open, and he said no. But he didn't say I couldn't."

"It's too dangerous! I can't let you do it."

"I'm not asking you, Mr. Danes. I hired you, so I think I have some say in what goes on."

"OK, fair point. But I have a question. If all you need is a guy to drop off a bag of cash, why bother with me? And why all the lies?"

I wasn't expecting that. "Lies?" I asked carefully. "What do you mean, Mr. Danes?"

"Don't give me that, you know _exactly _what I mean! Let's start with Dixon Hill. You never went to see him; you even printed a fake business card. The form is still in the printer in your dad's office. But that's small potatoes, doll. The kicker is, your mother isn't missing! She's living here with 'the insurance magnate of Hartford.' Or are you trying to tell me your father, who has enough testosterone to father a small town, has read the brand-new issue of _Town and Country _and puts potpourri on the stove?"

"The maid," I began...

"Has been off for a week. Or so you said. But look around this room, sweetheart. Dust on the furniture. Cobwebs on the floor. There _is _no maid. And there's no kidnapping, either. Two million dollars in fifties, in that little bag? It would take 40,000 fifty-dollar bills to make two million smackers. Oh, and one other thing. If it was a real kidnapping, the cops wouldn't go near it. That's the feds' territory, baby, and it always will be."

"You don't miss much, do you Mr. Danes?" I tried to sound vulnerable, but he just shook his head.

"I'm a detective, sweetheart. It's my job to find clues, to make deductions. To get to the bottom of all the BS I get fed on a daily basis."

This whole ploy had unraveled in a New York minute. I had no idea what to say next, but Luke did.

"You wouldn't pay me ten grand just to make a fool out of me. So...why the test?"

"I'm not prepared to answer that," I said truthfully. He took the check I gave him out of his pocket and dropped it on the floor.

"So long, kitten," he said. "Nice almost doing business with you."

I was floored. Luke was out the door in an instant and all I could think about was the real reason I wanted to hire him in the first place. I was barely holding it together when I ran after him. He was standing in the living room helping himself to a shot of Scotch. He gulped it, said "aaah," in a sound of supreme satisfaction, and waved to my father who had just appeared.

"Mr. Danes!" I shouted, "wait!"

He stopped and turned around. "Well?" he asked, sounding annoyed, which I guess he had a right to be.

"You're right," I said, "this was a test."

"Lorelai!" dad said, but I silenced him with a "shut up, daddy!" that surprised both of us.

"Mr. Danes—_Luke_—you saw right through our ruse. And the truth is, _that_ might have been the best test of all, inadvertent as it was. We _do _need you, and for something very serious. My word of honor."

He sighed. "It's Rory, isn't it?" he asked.

I immediately started to cry. Luke rushed up and put his arms around me, which is more than my own father ever did.

"How did you know?" I stammered.

"Your reaction when you said she was in Salem. If the two of your are as close as you said...well, it just didn't add up."

Dad picked up that bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and poured a drink, then handed it to Luke.

"Mr. Danes," he said, "have a seat. We have something to tell you."

"No bullshit this time?" Luke said.

"No bullshit," I said and daddy smiled because I had spared him the embarrassment of having to swear.

..._To be continued_


	4. Chapter 4

_Dead Men Don't Wear Flannel_

_by softydog88_

_Chapter Four_

_Lorelai_

I wasn't kidding; dad really doesn't like swearing. He's rather straight-laced and uppity; probably because of years living under the thumb of his domineering mother, my grandma Trix. Don't let the name fool you, this old broad was definitely _not _for kids. Hell, she once tore into a group of Navy SEALs about their long hair so badly that half of them resigned their commissions and the other half volunteered for stateside duty as cooks. OK, that's probably not true, but it _could _be, and it gives you a good idea of the standards dad had to live up to. She was old-fashioned, old money, and just plain _old_, and dad was still trying to please her with his every move. That explains a lot about him, from his bow ties to his desire to marry a Smith girl, to his possibly playing fast and loose with some accounting rules for tax purposes, though the mustache was a cry for help, if you ask me. Don't get me wrong, I love him all right—in small doses—but I also understand him, and that's just as valuable sometimes.

Luke swirled the Scotch around in his glass and smiled. I wasn't sure if it he was responding to the hooch or my dress, but I sure as hell hoped it was the latter. You might be thinking that the Luke I described was like Humphrey Bogart in _The Maltese Falcon_, but Luke was no Bogey. He was pure Han Solo—ruggedly handsome, tough as nails and with a hint of scoundrel that I found devastatingly attractive. And so what if I wanted to start seeing him? The case wouldn't last forever and Jason had moved to Texas after being humiliated by both his business partner, my good ol' dad, and _Jason's_good ol' dad, so I was single and lonely. I knew Luke was single too, even if I didn't hang around his end of town. Could you blame me? What with Miss Patty's cathouse, Taylor's string of casinos and Kirk's bar, _The Gazebo_, which was literally a gazebo but through which Jackson ran a bootlegging empire, Gypsy ran a _Gone in 60 Seconds_-type car theft and repair scam and where Fran, Stars Hollow's eldest citizen, hosted _Fran's Bakery_, in which the customers were baked along with the hash brownies, there was enough vice to keep me far away. _The Gazebo_ even had room for Andrew, the "bookseller," who moved opioids in hollowed-out books. Rumor has it that's how the town got its name. Some distant ancestor of Andrew's moved snuff back in the day, and the books with the stars on the cover were the ones with the goods.

Dad mixed me a gin martini and dropped in an olive just as mom appeared. I thought she'd make more of an entrance, like playing some classical march music and gliding down the staircase tossing coins to peasants, but no, she just popped her head into the room and her body followed like a Slinky. Mom was dressed to the nines, as usual, and dad handed over her usual bourbon and bitters, a drink that was named in her honor after mom, fresh from a tennis match and holding forth in her favorite bar, the _Frame and Catgut_, complained about the amount of ginger in the ginger ale so vehemently that the bartender quit on the spot and started selling Buster Browns door-to-door in Sheboygan. Mom strode by Luke taking care to shoot him a look of pure venom, to which he looked indifferent.

"Mr. Danes," said mom between dainty, lady-like sips of pure grain alcohol, "we finally meet."

"It's a pleasure," Luke said, making the slightest movement of his hand toward his breast pocket and the 10,000 clams before catching himself. He looked around, nodding, and said "you've got a high class joint here."

"It's not a house of ill repute, Mr. Danes," mom said sourly. "You won't find Taylor Doose in any of the bedrooms."

That broke the ice. Luke laughed long and hard, and the corners of mom's mouth turned up the same way they did when dad told grandma Trix off at dinner while defending me, if you can believe it. I realized I had to steer our conversation in the right direction, but Luke spoke up before I could.

"I don't understand something," he said. "If Rory's in danger, why is there no sense of urgency here? And why not go to the cops?"

"We did go to the police," dad said, "but they can't do anything. Rory is legally an adult, and no laws have been broken."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning we had a fight," I said, "and Rory took off. She quit her job and dropped out of Yale to be with her sleazy boyfriend, Logan Huntzberger, in New Haven. She's a journalism student, Luke, and she has her whole life ahead of her. We can't let her make that mistake. Simply put, we want you to get her back."

"Richard said it himself, Rory's an adult. She doesn't have to come back if she doesn't want to. And I'm not about to put the squeeze on some punk kid, either. Sounds like a dead end."

"No," mom said, "the dead end is Logan. His body washed up at the boathouse yesterday."

* * *

_Luke_

I let that hang in the air for a moment and looked at three stoic faces for reactions. None appeared. I had to admit I had no idea what was going on at this point. Someone drops a bombshell like a murder that might be related to the disappearance of a beloved daughter and granddaughter and they all go silent. I decided to push hard.

"Wait a minute," I shouted, "no laws have been broken? Are you kidding me?" I was practically frothing with anger, but it didn't seem to matter.

"Not in regards to Rory," Lorelai said patiently. "There's no proof she was ever with Logan. But where else would she go? She's totally hung up on him. We called the police when she stopped answering her phone and they came over. Five minutes into their visit, Rory called. All she said was 'I'm OK. Don't bother looking for me,' and the line went dead, so we can't even file a missing persons report. And the phone number she called from was a burner phone, apparently. No way to trace it. And when we called it, it went to voicemail. And she didn't answer my texts, either."

"How long ago was that?" I asked.

"Three days ago."

"And when was Logan's body found?"

"Yesterday," Richard said. "I was there when they fished him out of the lake. Tragic. Such a good young man."

_Richard called him 'a good young man' and Lorelai said he's Rory's 'sleazy boyfriend.' Do these people agree on anything? _I wondered.

"So, then the cops should be looking for Rory anyway, right?" I said. "If Logan is dead and she was his girlfriend she'd need to be interrogated."

"No," Richard said. "Mitchum Huntzberger got to them. He convinced them that Logan broke up with Rory months ago, which I guess is good or she might actually be a suspect. The Hartford police take their bribes and their marching orders from Mitchum, so that was that."

"Did Rory sound frightened?"

"No," Lorelai said. "Maybe a little stressed, but we _were _fighting and I'm not exactly her favorite person at the moment."

"Did she say anything back to you?"

"_Back _to me? No."

"So someone could have forced her to record that and then played it back to make it seem like she's still alive."

Lorelai's eyes went wide and I realized I had screwed up big time. "You don't think..." she said.

"Mr. Danes!" shouted Emily, "there's no evidence to support such an outlandish theory. Rory was just checking in, that's all. She and Lorelai are fighting, yes, but she doesn't want her own mother to worry unduly."

"Your mom's right," I said as Lorelai wiped away tears, "as were you. Rory was probably stressed because her boyfriend was dead. That had to be pretty traumatic." I made a mental note that Emily didn't rush over to console Lorelai either. It must have been a constant fiesta growing up with these two for parents.

"How would Rory know that Logan was dead?" Richard asked, "unless she had first-hand knowledge of it? I don't like what you're implying."

"She'd know from the newspaper. Surely a journalism student reads the paper."

Richard shook his head. "Mitchum controls the papers in New Haven and Hartford, along with half the Eastern seaboard. Logan's death hasn't been reported yet. We think Mitchum's looking for revenge, not justice. And trust me when I tell you, he's got the resources to hire a whole pack of goons to do his bidding."

A whole pack of hired goons versus me, huh? Pity for them that it only strengthened my resolve.

"Never tell me the odds," I said, and Lorelai smiled for some reason. It was time to ask for a favor.

"Lorelai, will you let me try something?"

"What?" she asked.

"Let me call Rory from my cell. Maybe she'll pick up if she doesn't recognize the caller ID. But if she does, you can't say anything. I have to keep her on the line as long as I can."

"It's worth a shot," Emily said, and Lorelai read me Rory's number. She picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?" came a girl's voice, and Lorelai nodded like mad. The person behind that voice was clearly scared. I had to tread softly.

"Rory Gilmore?" I said carefully. "My name is Luke Danes. I'm a private investigator working for your mother and grandparents."

"Thank God!" Rory said, sounding close to tears. "You've got to get me out of here!" Her voice was panicked and strained.

"Rory!" Lorelai shouted, grabbing at the phone. I handed it to her. "Rory, where are you?"

"I don't know. I'm in a room with no windows. Logan left days ago, and I've been here ever since. And now I can hear people moving around outside."

"Rory, call 911 right now!" I shouted.

"I tried," she said, "but Logan did something to my phone. It won't call out or send texts. He was supposed to call me with an update, but he never did."

"Did he hurt you?" Lorelai asked. Rory didn't reply. "Rory?" Lorelai pleaded.

There was a pounding noise, like a battering ram against a castle gate, once, twice, three times. Lorelai was holding her breath.

The silence was broken with a sudden scream.

"Mom, they're coming through the door! HELP!"

We heard a crashing sound and then the phone went dead. The door had been breached and I had no idea what to do next.

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

_Dead Men Don't Wear Flannel_

_by softydog88_

_Chapter Five_

_Luke_

The entire house was in a panic. Lorelai was rocking back and forth, her elbows together and her palms on the top of her head, just short of sucking her thumb. Emily was yelling at Richard "what do we do?" over and over. Richard had simply shut down; he was staring straight ahead and not saying a word. His eyes seemed focused on infinity and he seemed like he was in shock. In a weird way it was a relief; finally there was some emotion. I didn't expect it to lead to rational thought—it just made them seem a lot more human now. But now it was up to me to restore some semblance of calmness.

"Listen!" I shouted, and the room went silent. "The first thing we have to do is get out of here. This place could be bugged. Next, no cell phone calls. Richard, buy two burner phones and...hang on."

I grabbed my notebook and pen from my pocket and scribbled a note. It said _meet me at the Stars Hollow Church in two hours. I'll have a phone by then and we can swap numbers. Then find a hotel and stay there until you hear from me._

Richard read the note and nodded.

"I'd better get to work," I said. "Lorelai, I need you."

She looked at me with moist eyes and she blinked a few times. Then her mouth quivered and I thought she was going to break down again. But she finally stood up and I took her by the arm. She was shivering, and there were goose bumps all along her arm that were practically honking.

"Better get a coat first," I said.

"OK," she said softly and disappeared.

A few minutes later, the Gilmore house was dark, Richard and Emily were in a Jaguar headed who knows where, and I was behind the wheel of Lorelai's vintage Thunderbird, trying to sort it all out.

* * *

We hadn't left the Hartford city limits when Lorelai's phone rang. She banged her finger on its face in her haste.

"Rory?" she said, "Rory?"

"Lorelai?"

The voice sounded familiar, but I wasn't going to jump to any conclusions. Right now, the important thing was to listen closely for clues, anything that might be helpful. I pulled over so I could concentrate on the call.

"Yes, who is this?" Lorelai asked. Her voice trailed off in fright and I put my hand on her shoulder.

"Rory is safe, but she can't talk right now. I'm going to take her somewhere no one will be able to find her. She'll call you later."

"What's wrong? Why can't she talk now?"

"She's throwing up. Don't worry. She'll call you."

The line went dead. I still thought the voice was familiar, but I wasn't sure of anything right now. Lorelai was staring straight ahead, like she was mesmerized by oncoming headlights.

"I think she's OK," I offered.

"But what if she isn't? Who was that guy on the phone?"

"I don't know," I said, and I started the car and pulled back out onto the highway. I drove for fifteen minutes, and neither of us said a word. I was racking my brain, still trying to place the voice, wondering where Rory was, trying to figure out the chances that she was really safe. It seemed to me she probably was, as there would have been a ransom demand. But that still left the unanswered question of where she was in the first place, and why Logan left her in a locked room with no windows. Was the person who killed Logan the one who had rescued Rory?

Lorelai's phone dinged.

"I don't recognize the number," she said.

"Maybe it's from the guy who called."

She read the text to me. "Mom, it's me. I'm OK. Jess rescued me. He's taking me someplace safe. I don't know where – probably some gin joint. I'll get back to you. Please don't worry."

"Jess," I groaned. "Jess Mariano?"

"Yes," Lorelai said. "I think they used to date, before she got back together with her first boyfriend, Dean. That was her last relationship before Logan."

"Jess is my nephew. I thought that voice sounded familiar. What's that about a gin joint?"

"A gin joint?" Lorelai said, and she read the message again and looked at me with a smile.

This broad sure could be maddening. She was trying my patience six ways from Sunday.

"Well?" I said. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"_Casablanca. _Gin joint is part of a quote from the movie. She was sending me a message, to tell me where she'll be. She knew I'd recognize the quote and where it would lead me. 'We'll always have Paris.' Bogart says it to Ingrid Bergman at the end of the movie. It's Rory's favorite line."

"Paris? Jess can't possibly be taking Rory to Paris."

"He's not. He's taking her to stay with her friend, Paris Geller. Paris came to see me a few days ago, all hopped up about Rory dropping out of Yale. I promised her that we'd keep in touch. As a result, I have her number."

"Don't use it," I said. "Not until we know it's safe. I'll call my sister Liz and get Jess's number and I'll get some answers."

"You don't have your own nephew's number?"

"Do you have your dad's?" I took a chance, but I figured the odds were in my favor.

"Point taken," Lorelai said, chuckling, and we finished the drive back to Stars Hollow in silence.

* * *

"She's pissed," I said when I hung up the phone with Liz. "Of course it _is _pretty late." I looked at my watch and grimaced. "I didn't tell her why I needed Jess's number in the middle of the night, of course—no need to worry her unduly—but I can't call Jess now. We have to get a couple of phones and meet your dad at the church."

Lorelai nodded and we walked to the nearby 7-Eleven. I bought the phones while Lorelai played a couple of rounds of quarter slots.

"Hey!" she said, "three cherries. I won!"

The slot machine dinged and donged as a few quarters dropped into the collection tray. I was no stranger to gambling. Only three years ago, I was into Taylor for 20 large. He sent some goons around to collect. They collected bruises and the odd busted nose, and although I eventually got square with Taylor, I never heard from his enforcers again. Anyway, I expected Lorelai to drop the quarters back into the machine, but she dropped them in her purse instead and said "ready to go?" She had picked up a couple of cups of coffee (what else with this one?) when I was picking out the phones, and I took the one she offered me—the smaller of the two—and smiled. She smiled back; it was a nice moment.

The church was only a block away. I took my flask out of my pocket, had a swig, and poured a bit in my coffee. I offered it to Lorelai, who drank without wiping it off first. I don't know why, but that was another nice moment. In a different setting, this could be a nice first date; in fact, it was hard to imagine that there was anything really wrong.

The bright lights of Stars Hollow shone 24 hours a day, of course, what with the casinos, bars and honky-tonks. Even the church had a neon sign: _We welcome all denominations but prefer 10's and 20's_. The door squeaked open and Mrs. Kim emerged looking somewhat flushed. She nodded at Lorelai and glowered at me, which was her M.O. Then a car horn honked and I turned around to see Richard Gilmore's Jag pull up. Lorelai ran up to him.

"Dad, Rory's OK," she said. "She texted me. She's with friends, and she's on her way someplace safe."

"Thank goodness," Richard said. "Your mother is going out of her mind with worry." He was almost out of breath as he said it, which told me that Emily wasn't the only one worried. Then he looked at me and asked, "what's next?"

"Well, it turns out that my nephew Jess was the one who found Rory," I said. "So I'm going to call him and find out what he knows. Like how he figured out that Rory was in danger and where she was being held."

"Jess?" Richard barked. "That surly, insolent boy who was invited into my home, sat at my table, ate from my family china and then acted like we were beneath him?" There was genuine anger in his voice, which made perfect sense. I expected Lorelai to defend Jess, but she just said "yes." Clearly Jess had worked his charms on her, too. I'm sorry, I know it sounds like I'm trashing my own family, but he _is_ a case study in frustration. I pushed him into a lake once, but he deserved it, and a swan gave him a black eye, so karma's a bitch, and I'm getting sidetracked, so I'll shut up now except to say that we exchanged numbers with Richard and then Lorelai and I went back to my office so I could call my nephew. Was he the hero? Hard to know at this point. Knowing Jess as I do, well, good thing Taylor wasn't laying odds.

* * *

Jess wasn't answering. I listened to his phone go to voicemail for the third time, sighed, and dropped the phone.

"I draw the line at two pleading voicemails," I said. Lorelai was looking at me with her hands behind her back and smiling.

"Ta da!" she said, and she managed to produce a plate from thin air with a bean burrito, two Pop-Tarts and a pile of jelly beans.

"Where did you get that?" I asked. "I don't keep any of that crap in my house."

"7-Eleven, baby!"

"There wasn't time! I went straight to the phone section and then to the cash register. You managed to get a bunch of junk food and two coffees _and _play some slots in what, thirty seconds?"

"Thirty-four," she said, still smiling. "It's an art, refined over years of shopping with Rory and not having the faintest idea how to turn our stove on. Every convenience store in eastern Connecticut has been mapped out by us, with the most direct line to the best stuff. Of course, they were out of Kit-Kats, but that's what the Jelly Bellies are for. Every primary item has a fall-back option, taking into account its accessibility, odds of being in stock and general yumminess. Eat up!"

I offered a half-hearted smile and bit into the burrito.

"You know you're supposed to nuke these, right?" I said.

"No, _you're _supposed to nuke them. My job is to supply them and look pretty."

Look, I know that was just Lorelai's train of thought, and it's probably the kind of banter she enjoyed with Rory, so I didn't think anything of it. But she blushed, deeply, and hid her face behind her hands.

"Er, I mean..." she said.

"No sweat," I replied, and I had that burrito in and out of the microwave in a minute and half. I wondered just what kind of damage she could do to a 7-Eleven in that time.

* * *

Lorelai was rhapsodizing about something called _The Brady Bunch Variety Hour _and nibbling on a strawberry Pop-Tart, and for the most pointless conversation I had ever been part of, it was still thrilling. She was passionate about everything, and all her stories involved Rory somehow, whether they were going to concerts, binge-watching _Ab Fab _(I didn't ask) or suffering through dinner every Friday night at Richard and Emily's. I enjoyed listening to her, and I had completely forgotten the trouble that started this whole thing when I heard Jess's voice.

"Luke?"

His heavy boots came clunking up the stairs and then, suddenly, there he was. I hadn't seen him in a year, but he looked the same; slicked back hair, leather jacket, cooler-than-you demeanor. He nodded and said "we meet again."

"Back from California, I see. Jimmy get sick of you, too?"

I shouldn't have said that. Jimmy was Jess's deadbeat dad, and probably a big reason for his attitude. I felt terrible, but Jess just said "I'm back. That's all you need to know."

Lorelai reached out her hand and said "I'm Lorelai, Rory's mom. Thank you for rescuing her."

"Hey," Jess said, not shaking hands. "Listen, I dropped Rory off with a friend of hers, a real piece of work. But she said you already know who it is."

"I do."

"Great. She's expecting your call."

Lorelai left. "Well," I said to Jess, "what the hell's going on?"

He shrugged. "Rory was in trouble. She texted me. Didn't know where she was, but said her ex told her he needed to take care of some business and he'd be back for her. I guess he didn't take kindly to the news that she wasn't into him anymore."

"She's into you now?"

"Yep. So she turned to me when she was in trouble."

"Instead of calling the cops?"

"She's not stupid. She knows the cops are all on the take. She needed someone she could trust."

"How did you find her?"

"Went straight to the source. Logan Huntzberger, her ex."

"And he just gave it up?"

"I'm not saying it was easy. Punches were thrown."

"That's all? Just punches?"

"I'm not packing heat, Luke. I'm not crazy."

"Yeah, well, Logan's dead. And it sounds like you saw him and "punches were thrown" shortly before his untimely demise."

Jess looked panicked. He walked across the room and said "yeah, well, he got what he deserved."

"Rory texted you?" I said. "She told us Logan had locked her phone."

"He...must have come back after she texted me and before I found him."

"How did you know where to find Logan Huntzberger?"

"What does it matter? Rory's safe. Give me a break, will you? Enough with the third degree."

"We're just getting started," Lorelai said as she entered the room.

_To be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6

_Dead Men Don't Wear Flannel_

_by softydog88_

_Chapter Six_

_Lorelai_

The impression that Jess made on me when he had dinner at my parents' house was distinctly unfavorable. He was smug and arrogant, not to mention surly and insolent, as my dad had said, so I wasn't in any mood to listen to any smart ass responses.

"What exactly is going on between the two of you?" I asked.

"We're dating," Jess said. "That's it."

"For how long?"

"A few months. Since I got back from California."

"Rory didn't mention that she had a new boyfriend. In fact, after that dinner with my parents I thought you two had broken up."

"People get back together. It's been known to happen."

"Like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton and you and Rory."

He shrugged, and his leather jacket squeaked with the motion of his bony shoulders. I wanted to smack him, but we might lose valuable time.

"Why would Rory tell me she was dating Logan when she was dating you?"

"You'll have to ask her."

"She doesn't keep secrets."

"_Everybody _does. Or are you telling me _your_ parents are cool about you and Luke?"

"Me and Luke? We just met tonight."

"Come on! I saw the way he looked at you when you entered the room. That doesn't happen after a few hours. He's seen you naked."

"Not even in his dreams!"

That was the last straw for Luke. He charged Jess, grabbed him by the jacket and lifted him about a foot off the ground. He slammed him into the wall and said "don't be an ass! Have some respect, you _punk!_"

He dropped Jess, who fell to the ground and got up slowly. He was clearly shaken; ash white and licking his suddenly dry lips. I wished Luke hadn't done that. I was looking for clues in Jess's face; anything that might tell me he knew more than he was saying. Now I wasn't sure if he was breaking under the pressure of my questions or Luke's muscles.

Jess swallowed twice and looked from me to Luke and back to me again. He moved his hands over his jacket like he was dusting himself off and threw his head back in a defiant posture. Then he said "look, what do you want from me?"

"What do you think?" I shouted. "Logan is dead. It seems one of the last things he did before being murdered was kidnap my daughter. His father is, by all accounts, a criminal with deep pockets and a taste for revenge. Now Rory is a with a friend, but I don't know where. And get this, Jess: I'm like a big ol' mama bear—_very _protective of my daughter. I'll turn over every rock, kick down every door, and slap anyone around—starting with _you_—who dares to stand in my way. And I'm losing my patience with you, so start singing or Luke is going to hold you against the wall again while we see how many hits with my brass knuckles it takes to fracture your ribs!"

I was breathing hard from the exertion. It was all a bluff, of course, but one I didn't think I was capable of. And if Jess looked shaken before, he looked terrified now.

"Well?" Luke said. "And I want the truth. No bullshit."

"No bullshit," Jess said, and he sat on Luke's couch and took a deep breath.

* * *

_Luke_

Lorelai was incredible. She hit all the points I would have and she knew how to turn up the heat. Totally unexpected from a woman who grew up in that house in Hartford. I had her figured out for a trust-fund girl all the way. You know the type—European schools, tennis clubs, private banking, registered Republicans. But she was defying all my expectations, and in ways I never would have guessed. I wanted to know how far that went, but those details were for later.

Jess plopped on the couch like a sack of potatoes and let out a small 'oof.' I was afraid that I might have hurt him earlier, maybe bruised a few ribs or something. I hated treating my own nephew like a suspect, but we simply had to know what he knew if we were going to make any progress. Lorelai started rooting around in her purse. The gun-shaped bulge shifted back and forth, and I was afraid she might really have those brass knuckles she mentioned. But she just pulled out a stick of gum and I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd play diplomat if I had to, but I'd rather this proceed without any static.

"Things were actually going well in California," Jess began. "I had a job, Jimmy had found me a place to live, my roommates were cool and I had settled down. But about four months ago, Rory called. It was totally out of the blue. I was sure she hated me since I left without a word, but she told me she missed me and wanted me to return to Connecticut so we could get back together. I figured she meant New Haven, and that was OK. I could find a place to live near campus and if things went well between us, Rory could move in one day. But she said no, not New Haven, but Hartford. She had dropped out of Yale and was living with Richard and Emily. I hitched it back here because I had to talk some sense into her. Living in that house is _not _her."

"Believe me, I understand that," Lorelai said.

"It turns out, they hadn't broken up yet, and when I met Rory my first night in Hartford, Logan must have called twenty times. Rory told me she needed my help to break up with him. She said he's a pretty boy with a rich daddy and doesn't take the word 'no' well, which just made me wonder what the hell they were doing together in the first place. I told her I wasn't there to do her dirty work and she could call me when she finally dumped the jerk. She said that for the sake of us being together again, she'd do it. I was just about to leave when Logan showed up. He had been drinking, and he knocked over a couple of garbage cans with his car and stopped just short of us. We got into a fight. I got in a few punches and he missed every time. Too drunk to see straight, I guess. Anyway, he took off. Rory said she'd have broken it off right there, if he was sober, but drunk, he'd never remember it. About ten seconds later, we heard his car horn blaring, and it didn't stop. He passed out and his head was plopped against the wheel."

Lorelai was having a hard time controlling her anger. Her face had turned beet red and she was shaking like the bartender making my martinis. I shook my head at her, and she nodded and let Jess go on.

"Rory finally broke up with him a few days later. Logan, as expected, didn't take it well, but he couldn't do anything about it because he had to be in Switzerland for some summer internship his dad set up. Rory and I spent two solid days just talking before we went on our first date. We had a blast reliving the old days, talking about books and movies and music. It all started coming back for her and she finally decided to go back to school. But Yale wouldn't let her—they had some stupid policy that if you leave, you have to wait a whole year, so she couldn't return until next spring."

"Why didn't she tell me she was going back to Yale?" Lorelai asked.

"She only figured it out on Wednesday. She was happier than I had seen her since I came back, certain that the news was going to bring the two of you together again. She was going to call you that night, but that's when Logan arrived. I was at work, but when I got home, there was a note on the door. Logan said they were back together, and were going away so I should just go back to California."

"Didn't you call the police?" I said.

"Of course not. Rory told me about the cops in Hartford. They're even more corrupt than the ones in Stars Hollow, hard as that is to believe."

I nodded. "So then what?"

"I was tying to figure out what to do when Paris, Rory's friend, came by. Rory wanted to tell her about Yale in person. She freaked out when I showed her Logan's letter. 'He's bad news,' she kept saying, like I didn't know that. Anyway, once I got her to calm down, we talked about it for a while and she made some calls to some of Logan's friends she knew from Yale. Essentially there were about a dozen places Logan might have taken Rory, places he frequented but were out of the way. I thought if the news came from Logan's friends, it wouldn't be reliable. They'd want to throw us off track, right? But it wasn't like we had a lot of options, and it turns out Logan's cottage on the lake was the place."

"Rory said it didn't have windows," Lorelai said.

"It has windows," Jess said. "It's just that it's boarded up for the season. I saw the lights on and rang the bell, but no one answered. But I heard cries, and so I broke in."

"So the pounding we heard was..."

"Me. I had to crash down the door to cottage and then door to the room Rory was in. It wasn't easy,, and I've had easier tasks, but I got it done." He rubbed his shoulder and grimaced.

I guess that explained Jess's 'oof.'

"Sorry for making things worse," I said.

"It's nothing. The doors did the real damage."

A thought occurred to me.

"Wait a minute," I said, "you said that you found Rory by going 'right to the source,' to Logan."

"I also promised no bullshit. This is the truth. You have my word."

"And you didn't see Logan when you got to the cottage?"

Jess shook his head. "Nope."

"OK," I said. "I believe you."

Jess stood up. "I'm sorry for being so evasive," he said to Lorelai. "I know you must be worried."

"Yes," she replied, "but less now. Thank you, Jess."

She offered him her hand again, and this time, Jess shook it.

* * *

_Jess_

I was in a pretty good deal of pain. I wasn't about to admit it, of course, and certainly not to Luke. Sure, he was overbearing sometimes, but he's not all bad. There are worse things to be in life than a private eye. And Lorelai...well, she was Rory's mom, and I had recently come to think that keeping peace in the family was a good idea.

"What do we do now?" I asked.

"You should get some sleep," Luke said. "You've done a lot already, and it looks like you haven't gotten any shut-eye in way too long."

"I'm fine. Besides, I can help."

Lorelai looked at Luke with pleading eyes, and he squirmed a bit, but he relented. Oh yeah—he's definitely into her.

"Best way you can help is to be with Rory. She feels safe around you, with good reason, obviously, and the farther away the three of you are, the better." I nodded. I really did want to be with Rory, if I could pry her away from the clutches of her hysterical friend. But Lorelai shook her head so vehemently I thought she was going to pass out. She stood up and waved her hands.

"You're right about Jess—he _should _be with Rory. But I'm working the case, Luke."

"It's too dangerous!" Luke said, shaking his head and raising his shoulders in a massive shrug of frustration. "I can't let you do it!"

"You're not _letting _me do anything."

"I didn't mean that. It's just that..."

He sighed and his shoulders dropped. "OK, you're right. Jess stays with Rory. You stay with me."

Lorelai smiled in either a smirk of victory or the realization that she had just won the right to keep hanging out with Luke, no matter how dangerous. I was guessing the latter. He was into her, sure, but it was pretty obvious she was into him, too.

I had driven back to Stars Hollow in Rory's Prius, but Luke insisted on taking his pickup to New Haven.

"I'm not driving a Prius!" he insisted. "It goes against everything I stand for."

"Luke!" Lorelai said, "you can't have Jess sit in the back of your truck with no shell. Not in November."

"I'm fine," I said, holding up my copy of _The Dharma Bums _and a small flashlight. Clearly Luke wanted to spend time alone with Lorelai, and I was cool with that. But it was pretty cold in the back of that truck and I was all too happy when we stopped at a nearby 7-Eleven and Lorelai insisted that the coffee was on her. She even threw in a _Kit Kat_, which she had probably learned from Rory was my favorite. No one could say Lorelai wasn't nice.

We made it to New Haven and Rory and Lorelai had their long-awaited reunion. She told Lorelai she had decided to return to Yale and Lorelai acted suitably surprised. Luke took me aside and gave me a burner phone and told me to keep in touch.

"Where are you headed?" I asked him.

"I have no idea," he said. Lorelai and Rory finally parted and we all said our goodbyes. Then Luke and Lorelai were gone and Rory was back in my arms.

So why did I feel like the shit was about to the fan?

_To be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

_Dead Men Don't Wear Flannel_

_by softydog88_

_Chapter Seven_

_Rory_

I had a hard time saying goodbye to my mom. I had never needed her more in my life. We were estranged for so long, and now, the moment that we had made up, she left. But I understood why, and it scared me. She was with Luke, though, and she told me that she trusted him to keep her safe. I wanted to say that was good enough for me, but I didn't know Luke from Adam, and I was still nervous. I tried my best to hide it, and though I had a smile on my face, I was crying a little. Mom dried my tears with her thumbs and said "we'll be back, Rory. I promise," and she smiled, but she was crying, too.

And then she was gone.

But Jess was here, and Paris, too, though she was conked out in her bedroom. I sat on the couch next to Jess and he put his arms around my shoulders.

"Ouch," I said, and rubbed my shoulder with my hand.

"What wrong?" Jess asked. "Did I hurt you?"

I shook my head. "Just a little sore. I tried to knock down the door in Logan's cottage," I lied. "It was...pretty futile."

He laughed. "Yeah, I guess it would be. But don't worry —I'll be careful."

He took his hand and ran it gently over my face, cradling it like a father holding his newborn baby. Then he slipped his hand behind my head and softly pulled it forward. I had already closed my eyes, and when Jess finally kissed me, I trembled with joy. It was like every nerve in my body had been triggered at once, electric and sensual, and a sudden warmth flowed through me. I leaned back on the couch and he on top of me, pulling at my shirt. It came open instantly, like it was begging to be removed, and my bra followed.

"Paris..." I managed to say.

"She's asleep," Jess replied, and then his mouth was on mine again and the desire to say even one more word vanished with my inhibitions. He pressed his face against my breasts and I felt certain he could feel my heartbeat against his cheek. I kicked off my shoes as he made his way down my stomach and worked my belt loose with his teeth. The he placed his hands on my hips and pulled and my pants slid right down to my ankles. And suddenly I felt him, and I pushed my thighs against the sides of his head and put my hand over my mouth to stifle my moans. And then I didn't care anymore, and I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him closer.

His face was next to mine again, and I wrapped my legs around him, my calves pushing against his ass, driving him deeper as he sped up, then slowed down, then did it all over again. A bead of sweat ran down his nose and into my mouth, salty and slick, and then the taste was gone as his tongue battled mine. This was lovemaking like we hadn't experienced before, born from separation and fear, and the joy of reconciliation.

I could hear Paris giggling, but I didn't give a shit. And I continued to not give a shit for a full hour.

* * *

_Luke_

We drove back to Stars Hollow and Lorelai was asleep inside of five minutes. She turned her head toward the car door and twitched now and again. I guess she was dreaming, and I had to admit, it was pretty cute. As for me, I had to keep my eyes on the road; it curved a lot in this neck of the woods, and now I was thinking about curves, necks and wood, which didn't help my concentration.

I pulled up in front of my office and tapped Lorelai on the shoulder a few times. She grumbled and opened the door without looking at me. I opened my door and rushed to the passenger side, expecting to catch her just before she hit asphalt. But she exited without my help and plodded forward, not asking any questions.

She seemed to instinctively know where we were despite essentially sleepwalking. She headed straight for the stairs, proceeded up them with the aplomb of a determined drunk and dropped on the bed. Presumptuous, but I wasn't going to argue; anyway, the couch and I were old friends.

"Beddy bye, sleepy-time, slumberbunny," she said. "Nighty-night, Luke Duke."

I pushed her to one side of the bed, took off her shoes and lifted up the blanket and sheet. Then I rolled her back, wrapped her like an order of pigs in a blanket, and said "good night, Lorelai." Then I walked downstairs and out into Stars Hollow.

It was 3:30 AM; late enough that the only action still going was Taylor's casino and Filthy Eddie's Bar and Grill. I walked past Taylor's and there was Kirk, in a pinstriped suit and Fedora (I wonder where he got _that _idea) beckoning me inside. "Your credit's good, Luke," he said. "We can give you a marker for five g's, no questions asked."

"Some other time, Kirk," I said. The sound of the slots, roulette wheels and people shouting at the craps table was tempting, but I wasn't going down that path again. I already knew that I only had about 80 bucks in my wallet, and the same in the bank. But I was still sitting on that check from Lorelai so I could afford a trip to the bar.

The door to Filthy Eddie's was, well, filthy and I wiped my suddenly moist hand on the drapes just inside on the left. The drapes were covered with a thick coat of dust; clearly the place deserved its name. I nodded at Jackson Belleville (Melville? I still didn't know) and grabbed a stool in front. I helped myself to a handful of Beer Nuts. I'd swear Miss Patty put extra salt in them to sell more beer, but so what? People who took a chance in this joint wanted to get hammered fast. Did I mention that there was no Filthy Eddie? Well, not anymore, anyway. Back in the day, Eddie Bumpleruss (I know, I couldn't believe it either) was the number one pimp in town, and Miss Patty was his best moneymaker. But he turned up dead one day, with the town alderman's business card shoved up his ass, and Miss Patty took over the business and brought in all new working girls. I always suspected she bumped him off, but the cops weren't looking to solve the murder, and I wasn't a P.I. yet, so I let it go. Anyway, after a couple years bleeding the cops dry after she raised the prices for her services, she opened this place. No one ever questioned the name. I would have thought calling a place people go to eat "filthy" was a bad business decision, but it was usually packed, so what did I know? If I had a knack for business, I'd have more than 80 clams in the bank.

Miss Patty herself sidled up to the bar. "Luke," she said, surprised, "I heard you were driving all over town with Lorelai Gilmore."

"I was," I said, "and now I'm not. Where's Julie? She usually works the overnight shift on Fridays."

"She's in the joint. Got herself into a shots contest with a real pro and passed out right in front of the chief of police. He hauled her downtown and promised to throw the book at her, but I already paid him off. I can't afford to lose Julie; she has a standing appointment with Senator McConnell on Saturdays and he tips big for me to keep my yap shut."

I raised my eyebrows and she said "oh, I'm not worried about _you_, Luke. You're as trustworthy as anyone I know."

She poured me a beer without asking and refilled the peanuts bowl. I took a swig and had a thought.

"Actually, Patty, I'm glad you're here," I said. "What do you know about Mitchum Huntzberger?"

"Another good tipper," she replied. "Usually those businessmen asshats are anything but, but some of them, like Mitchum, have the sense to know that tipping big protects those considerable assets."

"No, I mean what kind of a _man _is he?"

"I don't know. Your typical corporate honcho, I suppose. Rich and sexually frustrated, so good for business. Why?"

"His kid turned up dead, and I'm afraid that he's looking to take it out on Lorelai Gilmore's daughter."

"Rory? That angel? Why?"

"She and Mitchum's kid used to date."

I had already said too much. I threw another glance at Jackson (Melville. It _had_ to be Melville), but he wasn't looking up from his drink.

"I'd better go," I said as I slammed the rest of the beer. "But gimme a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black."

Patty looked confused, like she was still trying to process what I had just said, but she put the bottle in a bag and placed it on the bar.

"That's a grade or two above your usual nightcap, Luke," she said. "Or are you trying to impress Lorelai?"

"I need to think. And Mr. Walker here helps me do it." I picked up the bag and dropped a couple of double sawbucks on the bar. "This'll cover the bottle and the beer. Put whatever's left over on my tab"

I took one last glance at Jackson, and this time, he was looking straight at me.

* * *

When I passed Taylor's a couple of minutes later, Kirk was gone. I walked back to my office and made my way up the stairs as silently as I could.

Lorelai was still asleep. I sat on the couch, cracked the seal on the bottle and had myself a few shots. Then I looked inside the bag and pulled out the note. It said _7:45._

I set an alarm on my phone for 7:35 and closed my eyes for a few hours of sleep.

* * *

Lorelai was looking at me with those intensely blue eyes. I sat up and shook my head. She had changed into a pink sleeveless dress, with a floral pattern on it. The floral motif extended to her head, which was crowned with a garland of pink roses. She was smiling at me, and holding out her hands. I reached out for her, ready to...

"Luke!"

I woke up to feel Lorelai poking me in the ribs with a vengeance. I squinted at her and said "hey, good morning to you, too."

"Your alarm woke me up. Too bad it didn't do the same for you, but it's no wonder." She held up the bottle of hooch to demonstrate how much was missing and said "oh yeah, I also found this piece of paper on the floor."

It was the note from Miss Patty. I checked my watch; it was only 7:43.

"Good. I'm not late," I said.

"Got a big breakfast date, fella?"

"I have a phone call to make. You should hear it, too."

Miss Patty would be expecting my call, of course. We had a system; if I ordered a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black, she knew I needed to talk. In addition to being the town madam, she was also the town gossip, and that made her the perfect place to start. She puts a note in the bottle with the booze and I know when she's free, or at least when she's made some inquiries. Usually the bottle goes on my tab, which is why she seemed so surprised that I paid for it last night. I dialed her number on the burner phone and put it on speaker.

"Good morning, Luke."

"Morning Patty. You're on speakerphone, and I'm with Lorelai. What did you find out?"

"I spoke to six different girls who have catered to Mitchum Huntzberger's appetites in the past. He talks about his business a lot. Talks about his kids a lot. A daughter, who seems harmless but is marrying well, and the son, Logan. He had a lot to say about Logan. Doesn't apply himself, wasting Mitchum's money at Yale, and it hurt me to hear this, was dating a girl who wanted to be a journalist but was entirely unsuited for it."

"What?" Lorelai said. "That bastard was supposed to mentor Rory!"

"He said she was wasting his time, which was probably why Logan was attracted to her. He also said he had to send Logan to a fancy European program for alcoholics. He wasn't about to do that here because the publicity would kill his business."

"Aha," I said, remembering what Jess had told us, "that makes sense."

"That's all I have for now, but I got the word out for everyone to keep their ears open and report _everything _he says. We might also try to slip him a Mickey and ransack his wallet and phone. I'll keep you posted."

"Thanks Patty," I said. "You're the best."

"Don't I know it."

"What's next?" Lorelai asked.

* * *

_Rory_

I woke up in Jess's arms, and it was amazing. It was the first time we had spent the night together, and even though it was on the couch, I was utterly content. But as I watched the sun begin to stream through the window, I began to feel nervous again. I wondered what mom and Luke had figured out last night. I would have texted her, but it was only 7:30 and she was probably asleep.

So my thoughts turned again to Jess. I had thought about how to tell him the whole time I was in that cottage, and again after he left. Paris said I should just come straight out and 'rip off the band-aid,' and I agreed. But that didn't mean I was eager to begin. I let him sleep, and less than two hours later, we had showered and were sitting at the breakfast table having coffee. It was time.

"Jess, we need to talk."

I shouldn't have used those words. Aren't they the universally recognized way of beginning the break-up conversation? Jess was squirming and before I could tell him to relax, he said "uh-oh. Do I want to hear this?" but what he was probably thinking was "really? Right after we made passionate love?"

"You _have _to hear this," I said cautiously.

I sighed and looked away. It was harder than I had built it up in my mind; harder than the hardest thing I had ever done. I looked back at Jess; he was clearly concerned and it was lovely and it gave me courage. I held his hands and his grip kept me from shaking.

"Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm pregnant."

_To be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8

_Dead Men Don't Wear Flannel_

_by softydog88_

_Chapter Eight_

_NOTE: I apologize for how long it took me to post this. I do not expect a wait this long to recur. To those still reading this story, thank you. _

_Rory_

I was certain that Jess was going to freak out. I'm not really sure why; most of the time, in fact, he seemed to keep his feelings under control. It wasn't as bad as near the beginning of our friendship, when I could barely coax a word out of him regardless of his mood. But I had never said something so emotional before, and certainly nothing that affected him so deeply, and because of this I was prepared for conflict. I imagined him yelling, making accusations, shouting that he was certain I was on the pill, even questioning if the baby was his. A picture shot through my head of Maury Povich saying "Jess...you are NOT the father!" and then Jess doing a ridiculous dance for the camera. Why so many people eat that shit up is lost on me. But Jess swallowed once, though loudly enough for me to hear, and then he took my hands and said "I see. I guess we need to talk."

"We do," I said, "but you should know that the decision has already been made. I'm having the baby. My mom was in this situation when she was 15, and if she had made a different choice, I'd either never have been born, or living with God-knows-who in God-knows-where."

"Well," Jess replied, "seeing as the decision is 100% yours, I guess that's that. I'll just create an actual budget and figure out how to support us."

He surprised me again. I was sure he was going to say 'support the baby,' and use that as the first hint that it was over between us. For a minute, neither of us said anything, and Jess just sat there with a goofy grin on his face. An uneasy feeling washed over me as I realized that my cynicism was deeply unfair to him. Maybe the relationship between my parents had affected me deeper than I thought.

"Oh, hey," he said, "how far along are you? When's the baby due?"

My cynicism came rushing back. He must have been figuring out the timeline to see if I had conceived before he and I had slept together. But if he thought about it, knowing that we had been sleeping together for four months, while Logan was in Europe, and if I _had _gotten pregnant by Logan I would certainly be showing now. But rationality in the face of a pregnancy announcement isn't a given. My worst fear was that Jess would flee like a coward. I'm older than my mom was when she had me, and I knew I'd have her support, if not that of her parents. But since my father wasn't around when I grew up, mom had the Herculean task of raising me while growing up herself. Plus, there was the fact that despite my pregnancy, I was determined to return to Yale and having Jess not only stay put, but actively be in our child's life was the only way I could see this actually working.

"I had my first prenatal visit last week,." I said. "I'm eight weeks, near the end of my first trimester."

Neither of us said anything for a while; we just smiled at each other like smitten schoolchildren. My heart had been palpitating, but now I felt calm and utterly at ease.

"Do you need anything?" Jess asked.

"I'm going to need some new bras," I said, grimacing. "Pregnancy boobs are..."

Jess snickered and his face had broken into the widest smile I had ever seen.

"No laughing matter," I finished, but I couldn't say it with a straight face, and then Jess and I were laughing together like hyenas, and I felt a tremendous sense of relief. I really felt that things were going to be fine.

Unless Jess freaked out when I told him why my arm was sore.

* * *

_Lorelai_

"Rory told me that Logan had a drinking problem," I told Luke. He was looking at me with heavy eyes, and he shook his head, either to try and wake up, or to make sense of what I just said. Turns out, it was the latter.

"Huh?" he said through a yawn.

Why could this man make something so mundane seem sexy? Was it the way his mouth gaped, or how his tongue slid forward just enough to cover his lower lip, or maybe the way he stretched the "uh" sound for a full seven seconds? I hadn't the vaguest. I didn't care. It just _was._

"You're in no condition to work right now," I said. "Ideally, you need sleep, but since we don't have time to waste, I'm going to make you some coffee. Lorelai's special brew; guaranteed to have you hurdling over the furniture in no time."

I started for the kitchen, but Luke said "hang on. Let _me _make the coffee. I can manage to make strong enough coffee that doesn't turn me into Edwin Moses."

"You?" I said with a little to much incredulity. "_You're_ going to make your own coffee?"

"Why is that so hard to believe? I've got skills. I can cook, too." He said that last sentence with a smirk, like he had just farted.

"Oh, _this _I have to see. Or, rather, taste."

"You got it. Have a seat and relax and let me take care of you."

I liked the sound of that. "You got a TV?" I asked.

"Opposite the sofa. You may have to jiggle the rabbit ears, though."

I laughed. "A Luddite in Stars Hollow," I said. "Sounds like a mystery novel."

"I'm not a Luddite, I'm just practical. I live by the saying 'use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without.' Wisdom from The Greatest Generation. My dad taught me that."

"Sounds very pragmatic. But I tell you what, I'll take a quick shower and when I get back, you can shower _me_ with coffee and food. I'm sure it will be a very practical meal."

"Don't bet on it," he said, and I liked the sound of _that_, too.

Luke's bathroom was just what I expected. Heavy on the manly products—Old Spice Body Wash, ancient Gillette safety razor with a lather brush and a cup for shaving soap, Aqua Velva and Brut colognes in the medicine chest. Nothing that couldn't be picked up at Walgreen's 24 hours a day with a pint of Ben & Jerry's. He even had an old oval hairbrush like an English butler uses to groom his master's horses. I expected it to be dusty from neglect, but it wasn't. Hmm, maybe his chest...

I decided to take my shower instead of fantasizing about Luke. It didn't work. Shower heads, right?

When I returned to the living room, Luke was pouring a thick yellow sauce over eggs.

"Eggs Benedict!" I said. "I've ordered that."

"The Hollandaise is just right," he said, which made about as much sense to me as if he had said 'the file cabinet with the salsa flies coach during the Hoover Dam.' "Here, give it a taste," he added.

He held a wooden spoon laden with the yellow goo up to my mouth and I probed at it with my tongue. Normally I would attack it with gusto, but I wanted Luke to see my tongue outside its natural habitat, see if it gave him any ideas. And then the sauce registered on my taste buds and I grabbed the spoon from him and treated it like Rory used to treat popsicles that summer when she was five. When I handed it back, it looked like it was fresh off the assembly line.

"Good, very good," I said as my faced turned sixteen shades of red.

"I hope you don't have any slivers in your tongue," Luke said. "I don't keep tweezers in the house."

Damn. I should have thought of that as a way to keep my tongue in play. I was getting desperate. Down, Lorelai, down!

"Nope," I said through clenched lips, now feeling sheepish about showing him my tongue. Ugh. I didn'tplay that well at all.

"Here you go," Luke said as he placed a plate in front of me. "And coffee." He filled up my cup from a stainless steel decanter, and I thought it was weird that a carafe was his one concession to the 21st century.

"What are these green javelins?" I asked, pushing the toxic (probably) stalks around my plate with my fork.

"You're kidding, right? That's asparagus."

"I knew that," I lied.

"Don't you or Rory ever eat vegetables? And French fries or hash browns don't count."

"We don't exist in the same time continuum."

Luke sighed so deeply, so disapprovingly and so contemptuously that for a minute, my mother's face replaced his in my mind. I expected him to say something disparaging, but he just said "eat up."

I took a bite, and a multitude of flavors exploded over my taste buds, one to a bud, a thousand distinct pleasures in all.

I squeed.

I didn't mean to, but it happened, and what the hell, I'm owning it.

Luke was smiling at me like we were lovers pretending to meet for the first time in some bar. His gaze held me steady; I couldn't move my head no matter how much I tried. Then he glanced down at his coffee and it was as though I had been released from his grasp. I took a second bite.

This time I moaned, and Luke snorted.

"So you like it?" he said, drawing out the word 'like' beyond reason, and surely for my benefit.

"It's all right," I said with a mouthful of Canadian bacon so lovingly prepared the pig probably gave itself up willingly just for the privilege of being cooked by this man.

"OK, that's good enough," he said, but his eyes were saying 'oh, it's delicious and you know it,' and I certainly agreed. He could see I understood because he nodded, and then he said "what about the coffee?"

I take no blame for what happened next. I didn't realize it had happened, and even if I had, I was powerless to stop it. I blurted it out and then everything after that was in slow motion.

"Luke, will you marry me?"

What?"

* * *

_Jess_

OK, my impending fatherhood didn't exactly happen the way I had intended, and certainly a lot sooner than I had planned, but it _was_ Rory, so I was counting it as a moral victory.

Rory was glowing. I hate saying something so cliché, but is it really a cliché if the truth of it is staring you right in the face? I had to admit to a completely unexpected sense of joy. Only a few months ago, I had thought Rory and I were never going to happen and I resolved to hate Logan until the end of time. But here I was, sitting next to the woman I loved, planning the next stage of my life.

Or, rather, _our _life.

Rory led me to the couch and pulled my arms around her. It was a nice feeling, and I felt more content than I had in a long time. She dug her head into my chest, like a cat, and we sat there, just two parents-to-be, in love with each other.

"Jess?"

There was a strange timbre to her voice, an ominous undertone. She went silent, and I imagined a clock in my head, tick-tocking away the seconds in a sort of _Tell-Tale Heart _torturous repetition. Before long, I began to imagine the most awful things—the baby was Logan's, something wrong had shown up in the ultrasound, Rory was going to keep me around solely for financial support...

_But that's not Rory_, I realized. I held her hand, hoping the contact would convince her to tear off the Band-Aid just tell me.

And then she did.

Logan was out of control. He went to Europe, but if he even attended rehab, it sure as hell didn't take. He came back to New Haven and was drinking more heavily than ever. He was showing up wherever Rory and fawning over her, usually passing out soon after. He was in and out of the drunk tank almost nightly. Rory didn't tell me any of this because she was embarrassed, and I didn't realize it because it always happened when I was at work. Then she got to the other night, when Logan showed up at her grandparents' house, drunk as usual.

"He was hiding in the bushes," she said, "and when I got home from my DAR dinner, he followed me into the pool house. He pushed me onto the bed and..."

"WHAT?" I shouted. "That bastard!"

I almost said 'I'll kill him,' but he was dead, of course. But I was so enraged that I simply wasn't thinking.

"He _didn't _rape me," Rory said. "Through his father's connections, he found out I was pregnant and he was under the delusion that the baby was his. He taped my mouth, dragged me to the car and drove me to the cottage at the lake. Then he did...this."

She showed me her shoulder. There was a bandage there, nothing special.

"He hurt you?" I said softly, ready to pronounce him a dead man again.

"A little. He had a blood collection kit. He drew my blood and was going to take it to a doctor to prove he's the father. But he's not, Jess, there's no way he can be! Logan is crazy, he's lost his mind. I'm eight weeks pregnant, and I haven't been with Logan since before you came back here. You have to believe me."

"I _do _believe you," I said.

Then Rory buried her head in my chest again and started to cry. I knew enough to just shut up and hold her, and I did until she was all cried out. I was just about to tell her we'd get though this when I realized she had fallen asleep.


End file.
